So, with four kids I thought that I had seen everything. W.R.O.N.G. Children never cease to amaze me.
My youngest child is a nudist. Amazing. At any given moment, you will find my child naked. He takes off his clothes in the morning. He takes off his clothes in the afternoon. He finds it absolutely hysterical when he takes aff his clothes after bedtime. The most ridiculous moment of nakedness has taken place in the past few days. I was happily driving along minding my business, when I looked in my "baby view" mirror and discovered that the redheaded wonder had removed his pants and was working on getting his diaper undone. This task was made even more incredible due to the fact that he was strapped into his five-point-harness carseat. Long story short, it is nothing unusual around here to see a flash of red and a naked behind running down the hallway.
Oh well, I guess that I should be thankful that he is not a voyeur.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Gooooood morning, BowMomma!
Sometimes, I am thoroughly convinced that from birth kids have one goal. That goal is to make their parents work as hard as humanly possible. For example, this past Saturday morning-and no I don't expect to sleep in on Saturday, I gave up that dream about ten years ago-I was awakened by my husband's girlish screams. Suddenly, I am reminded of Robin Williams in that movie about Vietnam and how he yelled into the radio microphone every morning to wake up the troops. You know, "Gooooood morning, Vietnam!" Obnoxious. And here it was, MY good morning.
I jumped out of bed, ran to the hallway to help my husband bandage whichever child of ours was missing a limb or facing certain death, only to find him standing there with our one-year-old whose diaper had leaked during the night and fell apart inside his jammies. My husband hates spiders, so one would assume that with that amount of yelling and fit-pitching that the baby was covered in spiders. The reality was that the baby was covered in that disgusting gel-type substance that errupts from disposable diapers that have been peed in a gajillion times during the night. Sheesh. Gel. Give. me. a. break.
Sooooo, after the work of getting the baby out of wet clothes and a diaper that was obviously not "fighting leaks" and stripping his tiny little bed, I ran a warm bath in hopes that I could get him smelling like a decent human baby again. He loves baths. I love to give him baths. He splashs and smiles and babbles and laughs. Baths with this baby are definitely a great of example of all of this wonderful mother/baby bonding you read about in all of the over-priced parenting magazines.
And on this particular Saturday, I remember the exact moment when my smile turned upside down and became a frown. Fit-pitching again. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen and someone had discovered that in the midst of having four kids, I had neglected to run out to the store and buy coffee for this "pre-planned crappy Saturday morning." Coffee. Give. me. a. break. I hate distractions. No coffee was definitely a distraction. Meanwhile happy, smiling, laughing, babbling baby had become silent. I turned my head to look at him and discovered that this truly was going to be a crappy morning. Literally. And there was my proof floating in the tub.
I jumped out of bed, ran to the hallway to help my husband bandage whichever child of ours was missing a limb or facing certain death, only to find him standing there with our one-year-old whose diaper had leaked during the night and fell apart inside his jammies. My husband hates spiders, so one would assume that with that amount of yelling and fit-pitching that the baby was covered in spiders. The reality was that the baby was covered in that disgusting gel-type substance that errupts from disposable diapers that have been peed in a gajillion times during the night. Sheesh. Gel. Give. me. a. break.
Sooooo, after the work of getting the baby out of wet clothes and a diaper that was obviously not "fighting leaks" and stripping his tiny little bed, I ran a warm bath in hopes that I could get him smelling like a decent human baby again. He loves baths. I love to give him baths. He splashs and smiles and babbles and laughs. Baths with this baby are definitely a great of example of all of this wonderful mother/baby bonding you read about in all of the over-priced parenting magazines.
And on this particular Saturday, I remember the exact moment when my smile turned upside down and became a frown. Fit-pitching again. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen and someone had discovered that in the midst of having four kids, I had neglected to run out to the store and buy coffee for this "pre-planned crappy Saturday morning." Coffee. Give. me. a. break. I hate distractions. No coffee was definitely a distraction. Meanwhile happy, smiling, laughing, babbling baby had become silent. I turned my head to look at him and discovered that this truly was going to be a crappy morning. Literally. And there was my proof floating in the tub.
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